


And then, there were none

by Kyni, OrphielBurrito



Series: Of time and universes [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fix-it fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-10 15:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11694858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyni/pseuds/Kyni, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrphielBurrito/pseuds/OrphielBurrito
Summary: How would have things gone if the Doctor had regenerated in Trenzalore and met the newly-escaped Master right after ? How different would things have been ? Well - it's time to find out.(Of Time and Universes 1, based on roleplays with the fabulous Kyni)





	1. Regeneration

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic is an AU set right after "The Name of the Doctor" (and the development of this AU started in the same time frame). Nothing that happened in the show after the end of S07 is relevant here and the Doctor never regenerated into Peter Capaldi. I hope you will enjoy this series!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi and welcome to this fanfic !  
> It's the first part of the series "Of time and universes" which is extracted from the roleplays between Kyni (the Master) and I (the Doctor). This Doctor is an alternate Doctor : this roleplay started at the end of season 7 (right after "The Name of the Doctor") and Capaldi had not been announced as the Twelfth Doctor yet. This chapter (and what follows) happen directly after the events of "The Name of Doctor". The following specials (including the 50th anniversary) never happened in this verse.  
> I hope you enjoy this series !

  


At the beginning was darkness.

The weight of a thousand universes on their shoulders, the feeling of being dragged through thick water down, down the rabbit hole. Time was flowing and they could almost sense the chronons trying to keep their body in the timestream, to drag them alongside the flow. They didn't hear their own howling – time ate it, swallowed it whole so fast that it could very well have never existed.

_Clara,_ they called in vain, over and over again.  _Clara._ She was lost, she had let go of their hand. She was somewhere in that flow, slowly disappearing, scattered across time and space. They tried to reach for her but their desperate attempts resulted in nothing.

They tried. They tried again and again, for an eternity – or maybe a second. But even they couldn't struggle with time for so long and exhaustion finally got them. They closed their eyes and, in a sigh, let go of everything.

  
  


They knew that coming to Trenzalore was a dreadful idea and still they had dragged Clara into this. Clara, poor Clara, Clara who had not deserved any of it. They had known each other for so little time and, now they realized – they had been awful to her. Shown her very little trust, treated her like an object of curiosity rather than like a person, made her sacrifice so much – only for their sake. It had been so true, all along. They made them all sacrifice themselves, turned them into weapons, and on this Davros was completely right.

Rose, Martha, Donna, Jack, Amy, Rory... they all gave away something, their life, their innocence, their memories, their world. All for the sake of them. Even the Master, now that they thought of it. Even the Master, on that day that should have been the End of Time, saved them and the world at the cost of his life – or at least his freedom. And now they had lost Clara to the exact same fate.

All this for what ? They all suffered, they lost so much. Because of the Doctor's greed, because of their pride, because they couldn't keep them safe when they swore they would. Because it was never enough. Never enough love, never enough devotion. They never asked them for anything, or so they thought, but they all... they all offered them everything, down to the last bit of themselves. And it was their fault.

Never again. Never again.

  
  


The ground was cold under their cheek, so cold it almost pierced through their clothes right through their hearts. It took a few seconds to reach them that they had survived. Somehow, by some kind of unreasonable miracle, they survived. They had gotten out. Every inch of their body ached as they rolled on their back and managed to sit. Their sight was blurry, nothing seemed to be willing to stay in one place – and there was so much  _light_ ... But the timestream was gone. Reality had changed, they could feel it. It was an uncomfortable, nauseating feel in their stomach, something that was just pushing through their organs and bones, as to make them vomit. 

The timestream was gone ? Then where was Clara ?

They called, and the sound of their voice was desperate and pathetic. The only answer they got was silence. Of course. It would have been too easy.

There was some irony in all this. They could feel it now – they didn't survive. The pain in their limbs, the blur in their eyes, the nauseating feeling inside them... It was dying. But it was so different from the previous times, so terribly different, and so, so cruel.

For the first time, they were alone. Completely alone. As far as they could extend their senses, there was no soul around. Not a single lifeform, not even a bug. Ha. The irony. So many people died for them, so many people lost their lives and souls for them, and there was nobody to say goodbye to.

The light... the golden light all around them. They recognized it. Why did it seem so weird, everytime ? Why did it feel so odd, so unnatural ? They remembered the last time, and the time before, and the time even before, and they remembered how awful it felt everytime. But they always got someone to say goodbye to, before. Even that one time – there were at least the Master's remnants. Not the most comforting thing. But they had the chance to forget everything afterwards. For a while, for a moment of bliss, everything disappeared.

They smiled bitterly as their body started to change. Alone. Alone in the end. As they had deserved from the very beginning. From the moment when they betrayed their best friend in the universe and promised them to a terrible fate.

Alone.

Alone to die, to feel their whole body decompose and change its internal structure. Alone, to feel their essence fade, shrink back to their hearts, then grow again. They knew they had no right to be sad, no right to grieve, no right to feel so terribly, incredibly sad – it was their own doing.

But as the structure of their bones changed, as they got slimmer and smaller, shrinking slowly in their clothes, they couldn't help but let out a soft gasp.

  
  


The suit was much too big for them now. They looked at their hands for a long time, fascinated by their new shape, so thin, so long. They barely showed under the long sleeves and looked like pale spiders. They didn't like that image.

There was no sound around. Just their breath, reverberating everywhere, a thousand echos of themself. A joke. A massive, miserable joke. Even the ship's console, that was supposed to be always humming softly, was dead silent. This giant TARDIS was a farce, just like the rest.

They painfully got up, clenching their teeth as every move felt like they was dying again. Their trousers almost immediately fell on their ankles and they threw them away with their shoes. These clothes would never fit again anyway. They took away the jacket and the bowtie. These were useless – and a bit ridiculous.

They stood there, silent, in the middle of the deserted console room, wearing this shirt that reached their mid-thighs. That was quite the consecration of their life – ending up alone and pathetic, in their own grave, driven mad by this pain that wouldn't let go. They let out a slight chuckle and ran a hand through their hair. They had one last life to live. And this time, they wouldn't make the same mistakes.

And maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't die the last one time alone.

   



	2. Crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I say in the summary, this AU was started long before Capaldi was announced. The Doctor described here is not Peter Capaldi but a non-canon version.

« Are you seriously doing this to me now ?! »

The haze hadn't faded and the Doctor was still very much in the process of recuperating from their regeneration – and figuring out how botched it had been exactly. Some things felt wrong but they couldn't pinpoint the source of this feeling. Not that it mattered, not in the moment, since their TARDIS had made the unilateral decision that the present time was excellent to malfunction.

It probably had something to do with Trenzalore. They weren't supposed to ever land there and surely the paradox had perturbed the circuits of their ship to the point that she was wobbling in the air, unable to remain steady for more than a few seconds, with the Cloister Bell ringing ominously in the background. The Doctor clutched their head in a pathetic attempt to get rid of a migraine that was hindering their ability to fix the issue, to no avail. The ship was without a doubt crashing.

 

They crawled out of their damaged TARDIS, still wearing naught but a shirt that was far too big, their body pulsating with regeneration energy. The crash had left marks on them and their Time Lord biology was busy trying to repair the damage. The migraine had only intensified since they first noticed it and they realized that they would have given anything for a nice cuppa and maybe some biscuits. The kind with chocolate. It seemed they had taken quite a liking in sweets.

Which was their last coherent thought before falling unconscious.

 

They awoke to a boot making them roll on their back. A groan and a desperate attempt at extracting themself from the long sleeves later, they managed to sit back up, quite relieved to feel the headache going away. That would make the situation more bearable.

Considering the person who was at the end of the boot, the truce from pain was certainly welcome. Wearing a dark suit much more appropriate for his character than the hoodie they'd last seen him in, his hair still bright blonde and his arms folded on his chest, the Master did look like the villain in a blockbuster from below. The kind of villain who would gladly spin on his chair while caressing a white cat to stare at the hero and reveal that it had all been a trap.

« So, Doctor. What exactly are you doing here ? »

 

The Doctor had made the decision to cut the conversation short under the false pretense of having to check something extremely urgent in the TARDIS. They were quite certain that the Master hadn't bought it but despite his flaws of character, he was still decent enough to let them get dressed for such an encounter. Maybe he had figured out that they were freshly regenerated and needed some time alone with their new face.

Looking at it, the Doctor understood why their old friend has seen so amused. They looked like a sad clown with dark curly hair that was a tad too long, an unkempt beard and big eyes that seemed to have sadness as an only expression. Small, thin, vaguely uncoordinated. Well, that wasn't too big of a change. They had gotten used to being some kind of stick figure.

When they emerged from their ship, the Doctor was wearing an outfit that only confirmed the general clownish impression they gave away. Torn jeans, boots that had seen better days and an oversized sweater, complete with a top hat on which a whole family had sit for generations, judging by the state of it. The Master's gaze did not lose an ounce of mockery.

« To answer your question, my dear Master, I am quite literally just crashing. »

They were surprised by the sound of their own voice. One day, they'd get used to it. Maybe.

« I figured. My TARDIS isn't thanking you, though, » answered the Master, pointing at an undefined red mess behind him that was buzzing with irritation. Oops. Well, that explained the trajectory disturbances.

« If you had not been on my trajectory, dearest, you would not have suffered so. Besides, I should be the one asking what you are doing here. My understanding is that you were trapped on Gallifrey.

\- I am on holidays, of course. What ? Surprised I'm not plotting evil schemes already ? » The Master rolled his eyes, then smirked at the Doctor. « I am not. Well, not _yet_.

\- Holidays. You took holidays from a timelocked Gallifrey. I cannot say if you are even more insane than ever or if you suddenly, by some miracle, became a genius.

\- Oh, Doctor. I have always been a genius. »


	3. Trying to fix what is broken

  
  


The Doctor learnt the most intriguing fact. They were not in London – or even anywhere near Great Britain. They were in some kind of deserted space around Lawrence, in Kansas. Now that was rather unusual : they tended to be drawn to the United Kingdom by forces beyond themself. Perhaps the Master had been telling the truth and was indeed on holidays. Coming from him, that would have hardly been surprising. 

« How did you break out of Gallifrey ?

\- I convinced the council to let me use a Tardis to help them... I just stole it without doing so. 

\- With what weapon ?

\- My brain.

\- Did you throw it at them ? Or just waved it in front of their face hoping they would laugh to death ? »

The Master rolled his eyes and let out a few words in Gallifreyan that the Doctor barely heard – but they could easily figure that their old friend was threatening to murder them already. They had broken their own record. 

As it turned out, their arch-enemy was not in fact on holidays. The TARDIS that the council had given him was broken and failed after he escaped through a breech in time. The Doctor made a mental note to mention this rift again and make sure it was closed... which, considering the Master created it, it probably wasn't. 

« So they gave you a sort of... zombie TARDIS. 

\- A zom... did you become some kind of idiot this morning ?

\- Not this morning, no, not that I'm aware of. Maybe it's the hat. I should lose the hat. » They followed suit and threw the dreadful thing away. « Better ?

\- I will tell you when you start making sense. »

But making sense was rather complicated when one just regenerated in their own grave, completely alone.

  
  


The Doctor would never have admitted it out loud but they were incredibly happy to have crashed near the Master. They had been so afraid of being alone, of never finding someone to travel with again, of being stuck in this pit of loneliness that their ship had become. Regenerating on their own, without so much as the sound of a city nearby to comfort them, had definitely left marks on their psyche and they found themself hoping that the Master would stick around for as long as possible. They needed the company. Desperately.

Besides, both of their ships were not in any state to fly. That would give them both time to... reunite. The Master was obviously displeased at the idea of being stranded with them, judging by his numerous attempts to escape the conversation and go back to his damaged ships, but he still indulged their need for conversation – for a while, before sending them on a trip to get some pieces to repare the ships. 

The Doctor was not too happy to be used as an errand boy, although the idea of having a mission, however futile, was somewhat comforting. They did not trust the Master to stay alone with two ships. And yet, they had conceded, because such had been the price that their old enemy had put on his help to repare their TARDIS alongside his. That, and a star made of ice, because it was cooler. 

  
  


Repairs had started and were going in the right direction, or so it seemed. The Doctor was quite unable to say, as they had never been gifted in mechanics, nor had they ever paid the slightest bit of attention to this lecture back at the Academy. Their help to the Master consisted mostly in handing him tools and making tea. The Master was extremely peculiar about his tea and he had thrown the cup out after one sip more than once, reducing the number of cups in the Doctor's TARDIS to an alarmingly low amount. Still, the cohabitation didn't go too bad.

The Doctor didn't dare to mention anything regarding the Master's situation. They were burning with questions but, in a very uncharacteristic moment of lucidity and respect, had decided that they would both be better off if the Master spoke in his own time. He didn't show much, if anything at all, but they knew their friend well. They knew what the shivers in his spine meant, they knew that the slight alteration of his psychic signature was a sign of something terribly wrong. What had happened to him on Gallifrey ? Did they really want to know ? They weren't sure that they could face the images of what had gone on when he was in Rassilon's grasp. The Lord President was not known for the kindness of his heart.

He never let them touch him. They didn't want to. They weren't sure what to expect. They had forgotten him, abandoned him on Gallifrey and never even tried to go back for him after he had saved them. Surely he held a bit of a grudge against them for this and they couldn't blame him. Their previous regeneration had been... well, they had been the kind to forget about everyone they cared about and just move on. At the time, the decision had made sense. They needed to protect themself, to patch themself up after losing many friends at once, after losing a face that had meant so much to them. But years and years had passed and still they hadn't even tried to look for the Master and save him. After all the promises and the ridiculous speeches about doing what is good and kind, about saving the universe, that had to be a let-down. But the Master had always been aware of their hypocrisy.

And yet he said nothing. Didn't talk most of the time, remained focused on his work, with the Doctor standing silently in the shadows nearby as to avoid the solitude that was looming over them every time they were alone in a room. He didn't seem to mind their presence or rather, to be oblivious to it. 

For the time being, it would work. For the time being. 

 


	4. Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want feels I'm giving you feels  
> Mentions of alcohol in there !

  
  


It appeared that what was needed to make the Master talk was a glass of whisky and a late night conversation after an exhausting day of work. Laying in the grass outside of the ships, the two Time Lords were getting drunk and staring at the stars, just like they used to do back at the Academy. The Doctor found that they enjoyed alcohol more than they used to and particularly liked the slight buzzing that came from it. It felt good to be able to let go of their fear for a second or two to bask in the glory of a late night glass of whisky.

« Why are you sticking around anyway ? » asked the Doctor in a slightly mushy voice. « Your ship is almost fixed. You could go.

\- I promised to fix yours. And you're the only Time Lord left around to mess with.

\- I'm flattered that your life revolves around me. » They smirked, unaware of how true their sentence had been. « But you had plenty of Time Lords on Gallifrey.

\- They were not very amused. Or amusing, for that matter. And maybe I just didn't want to stay in jail and be tortured everyday. »

He seemed to realize at the very second the words crossed his lips that he had said too much. He huffed and grabbed the bottle to pour himself another whisky, the third one if the Doctor had been counting right which was highly unlikely. They were both dizzy and carried away by alcohol. The Doctor knew that it was a bad idea and that they were letting their guard down a bit too much but they couldn't help it. Alcohol made them feel a bit warmer and it made the Master talk, so it was worth the risk.

The risk. They had already taken a fairly large one by accepting to make a deal with him, knowing full well they could never hold their end of it. Stars made of ice only existed in the realm of dreams and that meant they would forever be indebted towards him. At this point, the danger of getting drunk near the Master was practically null compared to the knowledge that they would always owe him.

« I'm glad you're back, » they muttered, rolling on their stomach.

« It's not thanks to you. I don't trust you.

\- Why ?

\- Because of the things you did to me.

\- I never intended to hurt you.

\- I know. And I think it makes things worse.

\- … I'm sorry.

\- Heh ! I won. Again. »

The Master cheered and took a long gulp of his whisky. At least he seemed to find some kind of comfort in knowing he would always have the last word. But the Doctor figured out that they were less inclined to fall prey to guilt as some of their previous regenerations. They had done nothing to save him, that much was true and they were quite willing to admit it. Feeling guilty about it was a whole other can of worms and seemed pointless. Guilt didn't erase the past, it just made the present intolerable.

They stared at the Master for a second. He wanted to appear so confident, so cocky, still standing fierce after his run-in with the higher powers of Gallifrey, but they knew better. He had gone through hardships that they couldn't possibly imagine and still wanted to look his best. He'd always been like this, proud, charismatic. Silly pride that never solved anything. It was time to make a dent in it.

« That rift you mentioned. Is it still open ?

\- Yes.

\- I see. And wherewhen might this tiny little scratch that could very well end our universe be ? »

_At the end of the universe,_ of course. After that, the Master shut off again, refusing to even look at them. That was painful. They felt betrayed, even if they knew that they had betrayed the other first – not them, no. An old version of them, a version whose hair kept on shivering with emotion that was never deep enough. The Doctor tried to remember the last time that they felt something real, something that mattered. Not pain that they would forget soon after, or joy that would fade away in a second. Not the childish excitement of finding something unknown and dangerous. 

They couldn't remember. They couldn't remember what it was like to actually feel something deep inside them and not just for the facade. Was it the regeneration or had they always been so superficial ? They couldn't remember. Their body and mind were still recovering.

« Can you still hear the drums ?

\- Sometimes. They're not as loud. 

\- And your body ?

\- It's fixed. I'm fine. Quit worrying, Doctor, you're annoying when you do that. »

Why the Master insisted on lying to them when he knew they could figure out the truth easily was beyond their understanding. Why wouldn't he tell them that he wasn't fine ? It was rather obvious that the Council hadn't fixed the loss of his life force. He was still pretty much in the same state as he was when he was taken to Gallifrey, or even worse, and yet he refused to talk about it or to even admit it. What was he afraid of ?

« Dare I say, my dear, that you do not in fact look  _fine_ ?

\- Is that your new way of speaking ? It makes me want to punch you in the face but I'm holding a glass of whisky and I don't want to spill it.

\- Punching has never been your style.

\- True, but there's a first time for everything.

\- You're avoiding the question.

\- I'm not. I'm fine, Doctor. And as soon as our ships are fixed, we'll go our separate ways. »

As if to make that statement even clearer, he grabbed the bottle of whisky and promptly disappeared inside his ship, leaving the Doctor anxious and perhaps a bit irritated. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. The Master couldn't leave, not like that. They had to fix the breech at the end of the universe to avoid other Time Lords invading the world – again. They had to stick together. The last of the Time Lords, together. The Doctor couldn't be alone, not again, not anymore, and they couldn't imagine finding another companion. Not a human one, anyway. They were too fragile, too mortal. They tended to disappear, to die, to forget. They couldn't bear the thought of living through that again, not after losing Clara in this way. And if they had to lose the first face they had seen after regenerating, the face of their best friend – they weren't sure they would know how to cope.

 


	5. Closeted thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [insert mandatory "being in the closet" joke]

The first incident happened a few days later while the two Time Lords were working on the last bits of the Master's TARDIS. He had named his ship « Lucky », a little quirk that made the Doctor smile, although they dared not comment on it. And Lucky, as it turned out, had quite a temper and purposes of its own. 

Despite being somewhat fixed and theoretically capable of flying and doing its job, the ship had several malfunctions that always happened at the oddest moment. When they were working on something precise, the lights would turn off, or the ground would start shaking. It never lasted very long and the Doctor figured that it was the ship's way of saying hello or something of the sort. After all, it was the Master's ship and it made sense that it would take some of the Master's personality.

But this time was different. It was not just a short and whimsical joke, no : it was much more serious.

« Would you be so kind as to use your laser screwdriver on the control panel and get us out of here ? » asked the Doctor, as calmly as possible considering the situation. « I would rather not spend an eternity locked in a small dark space with you for my only company. »

They were glad that it was indeed dark, for the Master's glare was piercing even when they couldn't see it.

« Doctor. We are  _in a closet_ . There are no control panels  _in closets_ . And I don't have my screwdriver.

\- Why don't you have a control panel in the closet ? That sounds to me like a terrible overlook.

\- It so happens that I don't get locked in a closet by my ship with the most annoying person in the universe every day. Fortunately. »

The Master grumbled and gave the door a loud knock, as if he hoped that it would make the panel budge. Nothing happened. Lucky didn't seem to want to let them out and had chosen the worst place to trap them : a small closet that smelled of dust and vaguely moldy clothing. At least they had enough room not to touch each other. That still was out of the question.

Disillusioned with the whole situation, the Doctor sat on the floor, curling up into a ball to take as little space as possible. The Master was still in the process of being angry at the door. Surprisingly, the door did not react.

« How long do you think your ship is going to keep us trapped here, if I may ask ?

\- How should I know ? Lucky's my ship. Much like me, it's unpredictable, » huffed the Master before sitting down, as far away from the Doctor as possible considering the space they were in.

« I always found you quite predictable. Try to take over the world, make a mistake, become associated with the wrong people, get defeated by your own foolishness and occasionally, my intervention. Rinse and repeat.

\- How do you manage to get more annoying with every single second ?

\- It's a skill. I could try to reroute the command from the control room to here... what do you have in here ?

\- Clothes. It's a closet.

\- Well, doesn't hurt to ask, you wouldn't imagine what I keep in mine. »

In the darkness that surrounded them, the Master rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. This version of the Doctor was odd. Their manner of speaking was too formal, too polite, yet so calm and delicate that it sounded natural. They had this whole clown thing going on but managed to keep some kind of charisma despite it. And they were even more annoying than all of their past incarnations – or was it just that he was losing the very little patience he had ?

And yet... and yet there was something different. Something about them that made him wary, more than usual. Under the quietness and the pathetic jokes and the excentricity, there was a darkness that felt stronger than usual. That, too, could just have been his imagination. Maybe he wanted to see in his old friend something similar to the thing that was growing inside him, something that he couldn't control or understand. There was the way his body was slowly sliding towards death, the way his mind had been hurt by what had happened on Gallifrey. He was different. He had changed. And the fact that the other had changed too didn't reassure him much. 

« Are you hungry ? » asked the Doctor, breaking the Master's train of thought.

« We're in a closet, so what does it matter ? I can't eat anything anyway.

\- I mean... hungry. Like you were during...

\- Yes. I am hungry. And if you don't shut up, I'm eating you next. »

Wisely, the Doctor chose to obey. That answered a lot of questions. The trembling, the fact that the Master drank more than usual, his permanent grumpiness. The way he looked at them sometimes when they were eating something. The hunger hadn't disappeared. And neither had the rest of his condition. Was there a way to save him ? Would he even let them try ? They were willing to brave his anger. But not that night, not while trapped in a closet with him. 

Their obedience to the Master's requirement that they do not speak lasted approximately twenty four seconds.

« We are going to go fix that rift together. You and I. I hope you still have the coordinates. I don't have a plan yet but we must go – we cannot risk you being caught by angry Time Lords again, can we ?

\- Hm.

\- Come on, say something. What are you thinking of ?

\- Stars.

\- Made of fire or ice ? »

For once, the Doctor's playfulness did actually soothe the atmosphere a bit. The Master let out what sounded like a laugh and extended his body a bit.

« Ice.

\- I saw a star made of ice once. I had to confront a kind of dream master that was actually sort of me to keep myself and my friends from dying. Turned out i had to figure which world was real between two worlds... which were both fantasies. Quite an interesting moment. »

Silence fell again. Despite the fear of being eaten alive, the Doctor tentatively reached to touch their friend's hand, just with the tip of their finger, just to feel a contact. No one had touched them since their regeneration. Not a hug, nor a handshake, just the contact of a boot against their ribs. They needed contact. His. Because touching him would mean communicating, talking in a way that had been forbidden to them in a long time. 

Much to the Doctor's surprise, the Master didn't recoil. Their fingers intertwined and a weak link formed between them, just enough to hear the other's surface thoughts, just enough to feel like they weren't alone. The Doctor let out a sigh of relief and closed their eyes. Finally. They weren't alone anymore.

 


	6. Lucky

The first one to wake up was the Master. And he felt a weight on his stomach.  
It took him a few moments to realize that the weight belonged to a mass of curly hair and the body that prolonged it. The two Time Lords had fallen asleep holding hands and somehow, the Doctor had crawled and rolled until they were quite literally on top of him, snuggled on his chest like a cat. Extended, his old friend was about the same size as he was, although that perception could have been influenced by the mass of hair on their head... but they somehow managed to make themself small enough to fit on top of him. A bloody cat.  
He grunted and pushed them away, which startled them awake. The way they stretched and yawned made them look even more feline and that sight was more than slightly disturbing.  
But then they froze.  
They stared at him, then at themself, then at the open door. Lucky had finally decided to free them, satisfied with whatever happened in that closet. And they had not noticed, they had still fallen asleep and crawled on their arch enemy to sleep on a warm place. Had they lost all sense of self-preservation ? And more importantly, all sense of dignity ?  
Of course, it was rational that they would do such a thing. They were so starved for touch and interaction that such a thing was bound to happen. But they were the Doctor and the Doctor, despite all their flaws, did not sleep on top of other people to satisfy their cravings for contact. The Doctor could control themself even in their sleep, or so they wanted to believe.   
The Master cast them a glance and got up, disappearing in the corridors without so much as a word. He was hungry – he probably went to the kitchen. But in the process, he had forgotten that his arch enemy didn't know their way around the TARDIS.  
The Doctor stumbled out of the closet, their legs all cramped up from sleeping in such an awkward position. The corridors all looked alike. They tried to follow the path that they remembered but as per usual, their memory was faulty – that, or their sense of direction. After ten minutes of wandering around, they had to admit that they were indeed lost.

Fifteen minutes later, a hologram materialized in front of them. It looked like a boy, a human boy maybe, somewhere around twenty years old. They wondered for a moment if the Master had programmed it to look this way or if the TARDIS had come with this feature implemented already.  
« Are you lost, Doctor ?  
\- A little. Could you please be so kind to show me the way out ?  
\- You upset the Master, why should I help you?  
\- ... I never wanted to upset the Master. Plus, you might want me out if I am such a nuisance. »  
They had never seen a TARDIS expressing itself (or himself, in this case ?) so well. The Master had worked on the hologram function to make it able to communicate. That was... very unlike him. Unless he did it just for the pride of having succeeded in something so technically challenging.   
« He's lonely. He's always a pain in the ass when he's lonely.  
\- Tell me about it. But he does not long for my company, so I am not going to force it on him because this is not how I work.  
\- The Master would never admit he's lonely. But this is why he allowed me to speak. As you know, Tardises cannot manifest themselves like I do. »  
Well, that answered the question, albeit not in a way the Doctor would have hoped. Imagining their old friend being lonely and understanding the feeling enough to build a talking hologram was... disturbing in many ways. Had their mood been slightly better, they would have felt terrible for thinking of the word « pathetic », but no embarrassment crossed their mind.  
« Fine. Then what are you expecting from me ? » asked the Doctor, arms folded on their chest. If they gave the TARDIS what he wanted, maybe they could get out of this labyrinth.  
« Don't give up on him. I know someone can eventually fix him. »  
Fix him. The Doctor's first reaction was anger. Their friend wasn't broken. He wasn't an object that required reparation. He was a person. And he was very much capable of handling himself and why should it always fall on their shoulders ? They had been pulling their weight for many centuries. He didn't want their help. He didn't want their help... but he needed it. And they couldn't abandon him. Not ever. Not again.  
« ... Fix him. That would be a doctor's job indeed.  
\- I thought it would be more a engineering job but if you say so. »


	7. Carcasses and Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master and the Doctor have a strangely honest and open conversation.

  
  


When they finally reached the kitchen, it felt like entering the war zone.

The Master had devoured every single piece of meat that had been made available to him, leaving only bones behind. Carcasses of chicken, rabbits and other creatures that the Doctor did not wish to identify were laying around and their old friend was sitting at the end of the table, his head between his hands. Sated, at last.

He glared at them when he heard them come in, seeming none too pleased that the Doctor should see his mess.

« What are you doing here ?

\- Your ship wouldn't let me go, » they replied, as if that explained everything. They approached slowly, aware of every micro-expression that could betray the Master's desire to jump at their throat, but he seemed calm. He had eaten and that had apparently soothed whatever ailed him, if just for a moment.

« I need to talk to him, I guess, » said the Master in a toneless voice.

« Probably. ...I never met a Tardis that could express itself... himself so well.

\- It's because we talk a lot.

\- What about ?

\- The past, the future... he seems to enjoy stories. He's like a child. A really old one.

\- That sounds familiar, doesn't it ?

\- What do you mean ?

\- A really really old child ? Come on, my dear Master, you cannot not see the resemblance.

\- And you're still mocking me.

\- That would be rude. Anyway, you found each other quite well. » The Doctor smiled, trying to cheer the gloomy atmosphere of the kitchen.

« Indeed. We're both agonizing. I bet we'll die the same day. »

The Doctor's smile faded immediately and they clenched their fists. The Master's sentence, said without the slightest bit of concern or worry, had hit them straight through the hearts.

« Shut up. You are _not_ going to die. Not on my watch. 

\- Why do you want to fix me so much, Doctor ? Am I yet another little project of yours ? »

The snark didn't faze the Doctor. They kept on staring at him and even found the boldness to stand right next to him, close enough to touch him if they wanted to.

« Can't you guess on your own ? Don't be ridiculous. Let me help you.

\- Like you helped me escape from Gallifrey ?

\- Like I should have helped you escape from Gallifrey. »

The Doctor being truthful and admitting their mistake was a rare enough occurrence that it made the Master silent. In another bold move, they reached for his shoulder and squeezed it slightly, just enough to feel the muscles roll under their fingers, the heat of his body. He was so warm, as if he was suffering from a constant fever.

« I should go back to my ship now, » they said softly, leaning towards him. « We will talk soon. About closing the rift and healing you.

\- I refuse to be your prisoner, Doctor. »

They recoiled at those words and frowned slightly. Prisoner ? It took them a few seconds to remember. Their tenth self, offering him to stay under their surveillance in their TARDIS, travelling with them – but not as an equal. As a prisoner, yes. They remembered what it felt like to be trapped in their own timeline, unable to get out, unable to figure out what to do, barely controlling their own actions. They had been at the mercy of the Great Intelligence then, and of time itself. They knew what it felt like to be a prisoner. They didn't wish that on anyone else.

« You will not be. That I can promise you. You are not my prisoner. You are my  _friend_ .

\- … Don't you want me to change ?

\- Change clothes ? I mean, I suppose, these are a bit...

\- No, Doctor, no. To change who I am ! Do you want me to stay the same ? »

The same ? Time Lords rarely stayed the same – but the Doctor knew what he meant. To stay  _evil_ . To stay  _bad_ . To stay  _insane_ . It took them a second to come up with the right answer, to figure out what they wanted to say, and the result surprised them even more than it surprised the Master.

« No. I want you to... I want you to be alright. »

They took a defensive position as the Master got up but instead of getting angry at their words, he took their hand, this time from his initiative. Even more surprising, he pulled them closer until their foreheads touched.

« You really are a faithful friend. »

 


	8. Must be Type 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, two ships discuss the future and make friends.

  
  


As the Doctor and the Master were trying to resolve some issues without even mentioning them, two ships had found a connection. The Doctor's TARDIS couldn't remember the last time she had spoken to another one of her kind, let alone one that was so... advanced. He may have been half dead but he certainly was a technological wonder. So when he attempted to contact her, she replied right away.

\- _Timelords : stupid,_ suggested Lucky in a rather tongue-in-cheek way.

She worped in agreement while greeting her thief who was coming back, seemingly exhausted and in a strange mood. She didn't like their strange moods. She didn't like this particular version of them very much, so far. They stayed far too close to the Master. That was bad, in her book.

\- _Doctor and Master : relationship ?_ asked Lucky, more seriously this time.

\- _I don't know. It's my Doctor._

_\- We are ships, not Time Lords._

_\- Don't care. They're my thief. My doctor._

But even as she was saying so and watching them disappear in one of the numerous closets where they kept the strange toys that they brought back from their travels, she had doubts. Was it really them ? It felt wrong. Like this version of them wasn't supposed to ever happen. They were still lost and vacillating, as if they had only just regenerated. It wasn't normal. The Doctor should have been fine by now. Were they giving away some of their energy to the Master, to keep him alive ? The mere idea made the ship angry. The Master didn't deserve that. She hated him for what he had done to her. His ship was decent, though.

\- _Jealous, huh ? Must be type 40,_ teased Lucky, dragging her away from her melancholic thoughts.

\- _At least I work. Somehow._

_\- I do my best. I'm older than you. My previous owner... was so stupid._

_\- Timelords are all stupid._

_\- He's dead. I almost got destroyed in the Time War._

The Doctor's TARDIS couldn't express anything but how much she had liked the Time War. It had been fun. Dangerous, terrible, but... amazing. She had enjoyed every second of it, just as much as her Doctor, although they would never admit it out loud. They were still clinging to the idea that they were good and fair and that they couldn't possibly appreciate all of the killing. She was far less complicated.

\- _You had luck,_ said Lucky.

\- _I had my Doctor._

_\- I had nothing._

_\- But now you have the Master ?_

_\- He has me. He and I. Dying together... It will be awesome._

As she questioned the dying part, he explained that the fixing was only temporary. Just like what the Doctor had done to the Master, unbeknownst to him, couldn't stop the inevitable. Lucky and his Time Lord would go to the end of the universe together – and they would die there. 

She wanted to offer her Doctor's help. The Doctor could fix everything, couldn't they ? They always found a solution. It was often a weird and ethically unstable one, but it was a solution. They said they would help the Master, they were working on that in their little workshop, couldn't they also do something for Lucky ? Take some of her pieces to offer him ? But they weren't the same type, they weren't compatible. Besides, it would have been a lot of work, enough to maybe kill her. She sent a few regretful waves through the communication channel, only to be met with the telepathic equivalent of a shrug.

- _This is my last trip. It will be an honour to go with you there._

_\- I hope you will survive._

_\- We'll see. The Master named me Lucky... maybe he had a hunch._

  
  


 


	9. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Doctor comes up with a "plan" to fix the rift.

A few days had passed. The Doctor had been behaving like a butterfly, unable to stay focused on anything for more than a few minutes, jumping around as if they were back to their usual self. Still, something seemed off about them – something that only appeared in the fraction of a second, between two laughters, two ridiculously long sentences. Their ship knew them well enough to decipher this expression on their face. This aching, this longing, this pain. And a bit of fear. They weren't usually afraid, not like this anyway. They were carried away by the excitement of fear and just let themself roll on the waves of adrenaline but this... this was different. She couldn't say exactly how.

They had been working on fixing their TARDIS with the help of the Master. Mostly in silence, for every single conversation would inevitably turn into a catfight. They both made sure not to touch as to avoid any telepathic contact. The Doctor wasn't quite ready to let the other into their mind yet, even a little bit. They didn't trust him. Perhaps they never would – how could they ? The memory of the Year that Never Was still burned bright in their mind and they knew far too well what he could do, should he decide to use his incredible talent at mind control on them. It wasn't worth the risk.

At the end of the first week, both ships were fixed and the Doctor barged in the Master's, a huge grin plastered on their face.

« I have a plan.

\- Knowing you, I'm quite certain you _don't_.

\- We ought to go to the end of the universe now that our ships are repaired. We will then figure out what to do with the crack.

\- … Just what I thought. As usual, you have no plan. »

The Doctor would have argued if they hadn't noticed how tired the Master looked – and how reluctant he seemed to talk. It wasn't quite like him to refuse such an offer for an altercation or to show any kind of weakness. In the future, they would say that they'd been torn between wanting to leave him alone and at peace or to ask him what was wrong. Both of those were lies.

« Come on, it will be fun and we should not waste a minute ! » they said in the tone of an excited child. « The end of the universe ! Quite the destination, hm ? It will take a while to get there !

\- I know, Doctor ! Stop rushing me, it's annoying ! »

They hadn't expected that. Taken aback, they stared at him, an eyebrow raised and a perplexed expression on their face. He refused to meet their gaze and pretended to be very absorbed in whatever he was doing with his console, until the Doctor's stare was just too unbearable to stand. That took something like eight very long and very boring minutes.

« I'm not sure I want to go, » he finally admitted in a growl.

« You... are not sure you want to keep the other Time Lords from coming for you ? You are not sure you want to get rid of this Damocles' sword hanging upon your head ?

\- I would have other Time Lords to fight. You would have other Time Lords to hang on. You could finally leave me alone. »

What could they possibly answer ? _Finally leave him alone..._ They wanted to tell him that _he_ had been the one always showing up in the worst times, _he_ had been the one just barging in with plastic daffodils or whatever silly plan he had come up with this time, _he_ had been the one obsessed with destroying the human race. And still, they couldn't figure out why.

« Well... it wouldn't be much of a fight, I'm afraid. Total and complete destruction, hell upon us all, Gallifrey returning, you heard it all the first time.

\- The rift is tiny, Doctor. It's not a ravine.

\- Pardon me, my dear, but the last time I had to face a « tiny scratch », it became a ravine in the blink of an eye. And then it was the end of time. And then I got married. Again.

\- … How were they ?

\- Her hair was impressive. »

For the first time since they had crashed at his feet, the Doctor seemed to shut off completely. They had been unusually open and talkative and honest, so much that it almost felt comfortable to hear them lie and avoid questions. It was more them.

« So, my dear Master... Instead of talking about my very much dead wife, we might want to talk about this rift. And the fact that no, I am not letting Rassilon get out of the lock to get your head and mine on a burning stick. »

They had quickly taken back their control over the situation. For a moment, talking about River had unsettled them enough to get them off their high horse, and that was definitely unpleasant. However, the Master defeated sigh was enough of a comfort that they forgot about it in the fraction of a second.

« Fine. You'll be happy to know that the scratch is caused by a paradox I created. Because I'm _brilliant_. Nobody could have escaped from this damn lock but me.

\- … Pardon me but I will wait until your mess is fixed before admiring you. »

Or longer. Admiration could wait. They weren't too keen on admiring people anyway.

 


	10. Big Friendly Button

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we reach the final chapter of the first fic ! [ insert emotional reaction ]  
> I hope you enjoyed it so far and I'll see you soon with the next part <3

The trip to the end of the universe had not been the easiest one. The Doctor had run to their ship, the Master had sent them the coordinates and they had happily sauntered away. They were excited, despite all the warnings from their ship. It had been a while since they had been on an adventure such as this one. An adventure they could share with an equal, no less ! It was exciting. Nothing else. They weren't scared, they refused to be scared. What was the worst that could happen ? They had never failed or if they did, they didn't want to remember it. Besides, failing could mean an infinite number of things in this scenario and none of these things were even remotely plausible. The Master would not die, for example.

They couldn't allow that to happen.

The Master's TARDIS materialized next to theirs a few seconds later and they opened a communication channel. He looked worn down, exhausted, and far from being as enthusiastic as they were. They chose to ignore it.

« End of the universe ! Time to save the world again, my dear Master.

\- Hm. Did a plan form in your mind yet or are you still making it up as you go ?

\- You will be happy to know, you creature of little faith, that I _do_ have a plan. »

And it was quite a plan. Inspired by the _Big Friendly Button_ incident, they had come up with a device that they simply called the Button, although in a tone of voice that was full of reverence. The science behind it was surprisingly accurate considering it was designed by someone who had never paid much attention in the Academy and probably far too advanced for anyone who wasn't in their head or a complete nerd.

The concept was to mess with the quanta of time, the chronons, to change their sign. Time was not a continuous continy but rather a discrete one and the chronons were individual unit of time. Individual grains of sugar composing the little square that one might put in their tea. Generally, chronons were positive, meaning that time could only go in one direction. But the Doctor was a Time Lord and they knew how to manipulate time, to go against the flow. It had taken some engineering that was wonky at best and some cannibalizing of the TARDIS's parts that could influence the flow of time but they had managed to come up with the Button.

« Throwing the Button in the rift will change the course of time there. A reset, if you will.

\- You do realize I'm just as clever as you are, » groaned the Master while rubbing his temple. « I got you at the first sentence.

\- Well, the force of habit, I suppose. Humans don't get science so easily.

\- Nobody's forcing you to travel with them.

\- Jealous, my dear ? But this is the idea. Throw the Button in, and _voilà_.

\- That sounds far too easy. What happens to me when you reset time inside Gallifrey, I presume back to before the rift was formed ? What happens if your Button fails or if the Council finds it ? »

The Doctor pouted and folded their arms. He was really no fun at all.

« The Button will not fail and I doubt the Council will find it.

\- They're watching the rift, Doctor, they're not _that_ useless.

\- It's a very discrete Button.

\- Knowing you, it certainly isn't. You made it big, red, with « the Button » written in golden letters on it. And you probably even signed it to make sure everyone could recognize your genius. »

They would have protested if he hadn't been perfectly right. Still, they were confident in the success of their plan. Nothing could possibly go wrong, there was no way the Council would react in time to stop the effect of the Button – and even if they _did_ , the Doctor wasn't certain that it was possible. They hadn't exactly spent time testing their device.

As for what would happen to the Master...

« I am fairly certain you will not get trapped again. However...

\- _Fairly_ certain ? Doctor, if I end up trapped again, you are _dead_.

\- However, there is a high chance that it will mess with your temporal perceptions and your memory of everything that happened since you escaped. »

There was a dead silence during which the Master simply stared at them through the screen. They chose to ignore all the criticisms encompassed in his silent glare and waltzed away to scan the rift with their screwdriver. At least, the breech wouldn't give them this expression full of anger, disappointment and exhaustion.

Just like they feared, the breech had been broadening. The Time Lords were trying to come through. Of course they were – they could only throw themselves at such an opportunity. The Master didn't seem to happy to hear the Doctor's fears being confirmed, although he had certainly expected it.

« Let's blow this thing up, » he finally sighed. « And hope nothing terrible happens. »

 


End file.
